


Bad Reputation

by Duckyboos



Series: Fucking With Fire [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Prison, BAMF Castiel, Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, M/M, Minor Character Death, Older Castiel, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Castiel, Prison Sex, Rough Sex, Russian Mafia, Shower Sex, Top Dean, Younger Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has nothing left to prove; he’s just about frightening enough that even the Aryan Brotherhood has yet to comment on his taking it up the ass from someone young enough to be his son.</p><p>That doesn’t stop people from trying to take what’s his though. And it definitely doesn't stop Castiel from showing them just what happens when anyone touches his Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> So. I apparently had a fair bit to live up to with '18 and Life' and I have no idea whether this comes close or not, but I have plans for at least another two, maybe more. So please let me know if I'm going the right way - or not! - with this.
> 
> Thanks guys. Your support is always appreciated.
> 
> And, oh - I think I might have outdone myself on the swearing in this one.
> 
> (Also, there is some light breathplay in this. Please be sensible and do your research before attempting anything vaguely similar. [Also, don't kill anyone. Murder is bad.])
> 
> (Oh, oh, oh. I know that the Russian Mafia wouldn't promote any non-Russians to Gabriel's position, but I'm pretty sure you all know by now to take everything I write with a huge bucket of salt - mostly to ward off the demons that will be circling around your soul after you read anything I've written.)

Dean Winchester is a thing of beauty. Wise far beyond his eighteen years and so fucking pretty that sometimes it physically hurts Castiel to look at him.

And just looking at him would lead most to see a barely legal twink. Castiel knows differently and _damn_ , if the memory of Dean screwing him into the mattress doesn’t get him half-way hard. Then again, most things Dean does gets him disproportionately horny. Whether it’s the lips, freckles or Hell, the whole package, Castiel isn’t sure, but he does know that the brightly burning defiance in those green eyes is something that he wants to keep seeing for the near future.

Which means protecting Dean Winchester is at the top of his priorities. Castiel has nothing left to prove; he’s just about frightening enough that even the Aryan Brotherhood has yet to comment on his taking it up the ass from someone young enough to be his son.

That doesn’t stop people from trying to take what’s his though and today is no different. As soon as Dean returns from shop – a gig Castiel had to cash in a few favors to obtain for his young mechanic – he can tell that there’s something wrong by the slump in Dean’s shoulders, world-weary and the usual spark of mischief is missing.

He trudges into their cell and throws himself face down onto his bunk, acting every inch the teenager that Castiel frequently forgets he is. Except when they’re fucking, because it’s a _definite_ kink of Cas’s.

Castiel’s voice is firm, meaning implicit when he says, “Dean.”

In response, Castiel gets nothing but a frustrated huff and something mumbled into a pillow.

This is precisely why he never had kids of his own. Well, it’s the excuse he sometimes tells himself when he realizes that he’s almost forty and the only people who will miss him when he ultimately dies bloody, are criminals. He tries again. “Dean. What happened? Talk.”

A couple of seconds tick by with no response and Castiel feels his patience wearing thin. He’s not generally known for his tolerance, but in the few months that Dean’s been inside, he’s found himself making a conscious effort with the teenager.

Nobody else would warrant the same courtesy.

Finally Dean lifts his head out of the pillow and grumbles out a rough approximation of a sentence.  Castiel just about catches the word ‘Alastair’. Which is the only one he needs to hear anyway; he can piece the rest together from that. The slimy fucker has been cautioned away from Dean more times than Castiel can count. He’s evidently in need of a clearer message.

“Are you hurt?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. But I want _him_ to be.”

And that’s all that needs to be said.

 

***

 

With enough palm-greasing, even the most ‘moral’ of guards will turn their backs to anything that Castiel tells them to. And if the money isn’t enough – there have been one or two instances – a reminder of his status in the Bratva certainly is.

It’s ironic really. The feds thought that incarceration would have slowed him down, but if anything, it’s been good for Castiel and his boss in general; fortifying old connections that were in danger of dying out and in here, he’s just as powerful as he was on the outside.

Which is why everyone should know better than to touch what’s his.

One of the CO’s – Lafitte –  gives Castiel a discreet nod as he strides past, meaning that everything is set-up and ready to go.

So he’s got an hour whilst the other cons are either in shop or exercising in the yard. Perfect.

The showers in Eastern State are actually not bad compared to some other facilities. For instance; although they’re all walk-ins with no curtains, there are partitioning walls. Which does offer some form of protection from prying eyes and eager cocks.

However, from Castiel’s vantage point – leaning his weight against the porcelain sink directly opposite the only stall he’s interested in – he has the perfect view of Alastair scrubbing at pale skin that barely stretches over bone. Nothing about the way his eyes trail over Alastair’s naked body is sexual; instead it’s purely perfunctory as he mentally checks off all of the pressure points, relishing the other man’s vulnerability.

He whistles lowly, faux-appreciation in his voice when he says, “Nice dick Alastair. Does it come in man-size?”

Alastair jumps, the bar of soap squeezed out of his grip when his entire body tenses, and Castiel would laugh at the prison-shower-dropping-the-soap stereotype if the crudeness of it didn’t remind him of Dean.

_His Dean._

Not Alastair’s.

“Krushnic.” Alastair’s gray eyes are wide, panicked as he glances about for a guard. Finding none he turns back to Castiel. He tries for insouciance, but falls spectacularly short of the mark; Castiel can see the tremble in Alastair’s fingers when he reaches to turn the water off. “What can I do for you?”

Castiel tosses him a towel. It’s not the benevolent gesture that Alastair takes it for. No, it’s more to spare himself from having to look at Alastair’s extremely unappealing flaccid cock for any longer than necessary.

“Well. You could always start by leaving Dean Winchester the fuck alone, like we’ve discussed on _so_ many occasions.”

Alastair blanches, but doesn't back down, securing the towel at his waist. “What are you going to do Krushnic? Rough me up some more? Because that’s all you can do, isn't it? You’re impotent.”

He goes to saunter away, wet feet slapping on the tiles that were probably once white, but he’s stopped by Gabriel – one of Castiel’s Boyevik’s on the inside – loitering in the doorway. Gabriel may not look like much; he’s not as tall as Castiel, nor as leanly muscled and he cracks too many jokes and eats too much candy to be healthy, but he’s loyal to a fault and frightening as Hell in the right setting.

And now is definitely the right setting.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, “Did he just call you impotent, boss?”

“It certainly seems that way.”

Gabriel nods, amber eyes focusing on Alastair, who seems frozen to the spot, “I had to check, just ‘cause I can’t imagine anyone being that _fucking stupid_.”

Castiel shakes his head slowly, pushing off from the sink, “Well, I thought that too Gabe, but we should cut him some slack. After all, his boss _does_ have connections to ours.”

Something akin to suspicion flits across Alastair’s features, but he quickly covers it up with bluster, clearly trying his hardest not to flinch as Castiel approaches. “Exactly. Remember that. I’m untouchable, even for you, Krushnic. You kill me and you’re fucked.”

“Hmmm,” Castiel stops about two feet from the other man; any closer and this will all be over far too soon, “but those connections means precisely fuck all where you’re concerned. Your protection has officially run out as of this morning.”

He can see the cogs turning in Alastair’s brain, frantically working out what could have happened, where his arrangement has gone wrong. “How?” he croaks, throat dry.

“We made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Castiel allows a shark-like smirk to spread across his face, because he’s been waiting for this moment since Dean arrived in this hell-hole and now it’s finally happening. He’s not one for emotion, but this is just too fucking _good_.

He’s thankful that his Pakhan values him highly enough to _persuade_ Crowley – Alastair’s boss – to let Castiel dispose of the scumbag. Alastair is middle management at best anyway; they’ll find a replacement within their ranks easily. Probably already have.

Sensibly – perhaps for the first time in the last few months – Alastair keeps his mouth shut, lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Now,” Castiel says, all business. “I think we’re past threats at this point. But I can make this quick and easy or long and drawn out. You deserve the latter, but it really isn’t up to me.”

Alastair barely spares Dean a glance as he enters to the shower room, instead choosing to pursue his line of enquiry with Castiel.

“ _Him_? You’re going to potentially start a war between our organizations for what?” Alastair sounds disgusted, thinly veiled loathing bleeding through the panic and the pleading that he’s almost too proud for, but he will by the end. They all do. “A piece of ass?”

Castiel backhands Alastair across the face, unimpressed at the level of disrespect shown to both himself and Dean. His slaps are famous in the Bratva; more effective than any punch he’s ever seen from a colleague or one he’s thrown himself. Alastair’s head snaps to the side with brutal force, spittle and blood flying, and he lets out a pathetic little whimper.

Castiel doesn’t need to look at Dean to know that he’s impressed – and maybe a little turned on. “Jesus fucking Christ, Cas.”

He keeps his eyes on Alastair even as he’s talking to Dean, “You want to learn how to do that?”

Breathless and wide-eyed with admiration, his perfect little non-twink says, “Y-yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Castiel smiles, pleased with Dean’s proclivity for violence. He’d seen it the first time that they’d fucked; felt it in every vicious movement of his hips, but to have it confirmed so blatantly is perfect.

He still needs to check though; if he pushes this on Dean before he’s ready, it could result in Castiel losing him. He turns, making a point of giving the teenager his full attention. “Are you sure about this Dean? You still want him to hurt, right?”

Alastair takes advantage of Dean’s hesitation, and starts burbling out pleas and promises like they’re going out of style, “No, look Dean, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone. Please. I swear. Please. I know that I said some stupid shit to you and I'm sorry -”

“Shut up.” Castiel snaps, still watching Dean, waiting for his decision, not wanting to rush him, but aware of the time constraints. “Think about it Dean.” He didn’t want to play this card until much later on in the game, but needs must. “What happens if something happens to me? Would you want to ride out the rest of your sentence knowing that this man is alive and just waiting to get his hands on you?”

That touches a nerve – as predicted – and Dean’s eyes harden and along with them, his resolve, because in the next second he’s giving Castiel the barest of nods, “Do it.”

Which is permission for so much more than just the ending of Alastair’s life.

“Good choice.”

 

***

Castiel had been unsure on how Dean was going to take being a witness to murder.

Having a shower as he and Gabriel ordered some lower-ranking inmates to clear up the blood and dump the body in some linen for delivery on the outside, was hardly the reaction he’d been expecting.

Not that Castiel is complaining, because the sight that Dean makes is nothing short of breathtaking; lean muscles working beneath taut, flawless skin as water sluices between his shoulder blades and Castiel can’t look away, eyes eagerly tracking every drop of liquid that trails down over Dean’s bare back and ass. It’s not often that Castiel gets the chance to openly ogle Dean’s body like this and he’s certainly making the most of it.

Dean slants one green eye open, “C’mere Cas.”

And that’s all the persuasion he needs. Behind him, he vaguely hears Gabriel still snapping out orders, but it doesn’t matter, because Castiel is stripping off his prison scrubs and getting under the warm spray next to Dean. Privacy is a non-issue in prison.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs lowly, pulling Dean’s body tight against his, miles of slippery skin and solid warmth feeling sublime under his hands. He can see Dean’s hesitance in reciprocating, understands that this is a lot to deal with for the first time. He’s not going to rush Dean into replying, just wait for him to talk on his own.

It takes a few moments where Castiel just presses gentle kisses into freckled skin, reassuring with every touch of his lips that it’s all going to be all right. He doesn’t usually go in for this tender shit, but he needs to make Dean be okay with this.

“What am I doing?” Dean finally whispers, half to himself, as the reality of the situation hits. “I just saw you kill a guy and—and I’m so fuckin’ hard for you… _Fuck_ …. Man I stole a freakin’ car to get my brother to hospital for fucks’ sake. I don’t belong here Cas –“

Castiel has to stop him there, because Dean is _exactly_ where he belongs. “It’s okay,” he soothes, “you did so well today. I’m proud of you.”

Dean looks at him properly for the first time since Castiel forced the shiv through Alastair’s heart with an accuracy only garnered from experience. He’d known about the risks of bringing Dean to watch, but complete transparency of what he’s getting into is necessary for their working relationship to move forward.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Going to all this trouble to keep me protected?”

It’s too soon for _that_ much honesty though. So he gives the only answer he can think of, “Just because.”

Dean huffs, shifting his weight under the rapidly cooling water. “Can you elaborate on that?”

Goddamn teenagers. Castiel isn’t used to explaining himself to anyone. He’s not very good at it. “Because… fucking-- _just because_. Why can’t that be good enough?”

He sees a glimpse of a smile twitching at the corner of Dean’s plush lips, before he twists in Castiel's arms to turn the water off. “You’re kinda emotionally stunted, ain’t ya Cas?”

Castiel says nothing. Though he’s secretly pleased that Dean seems to be returning to his usual self. So he takes advantage of the mood shift, smoothing his hands down Dean’s back and over the firm flesh of his ass.

“Mmm,” Dean hums softy, a content little sound. “So did I just inadvertently order my first hit?”

“Certainly looks that way,” Castiel murmurs, pressing his lips to Dean’s neck.

“I still can’t believe that I have a dude from the Russian Mafia at my beck and call. That mean I can order hits on anyone in here?”

“No.” Castiel says firmly. “That was a freebie. No more. You do your own dirty work from now on.”

When there’s nothing but silence, Castiel risks a glance at Dean. The kid looks like he’s contemplating something, so Castiel continues, “If you want to survive in here, you’ve got to be willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes, huh. What? Like this?” Dean is fast; impressively so, as he shoves Castiel against the cold, slick tiles of the shower wall, boxing him in and brings his hand up to Castiel’s neck, rubbing his thumb in the hollow of Castiel’s throat, pressing down lightly. It’s not quite enough pressure to cut off Castiel’s air supply yet, but he still has to fight every instinct in his body to not react. He needs Dean to do this. “Like you did with Alastair during my first week here?”

Castiel’s voice is strained when he says, “Something like that.”

Dean crushes in even closer, pinning them chest to chest as he slides his leg between Castiel’s thighs and Castiel can’t help the moan that tumbles from his lips at the delicious friction elicited from his erection skidding over the wet skin at Dean’s hip.

“Tell me what you want, Cas.” The hand at his throat is removed and planted on the wall next to Castiel’s shoulder. This close, he can see the drops of water clinging to Dean’s lashes, clumping them together, can see the gold flecks hidden in the green and he just _wants_ anything Dean can give him. He attempts to communicate this in the movement of his hips, rocking up slowly, trying to get more contact, more _anything_ , but Dean’s weight is solid against him, unmoving.

“Nuh-uh. Say it, Cas.” The boy is a natural at this; was made to be an enforcer – a krysha – and Castiel is counting down the days until they’re both out of here. Then the real fun can begin.

“Want you to fuck me,” he grates out and it’s not a lie. There haven’t been many that he’s bent over for and Dean is definitely the most interested he’s been in a long time.

Dean’s eyes darken down to the pupil, liquid black swallowing the green and his voice is barely above a throaty whisper when he says, “Yeah? All that control and you’re just going to hand it over to me?”

Which is entirely the point.

“Not if you don’t get your dick in me within the next fifteen seconds.”

“So fuckin’ bossy,” Dean’s hands slide underneath Castiel, palms fitting to the curve of his ass, pulling him upwards, urging him into position. So Castiel goes, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist, letting Dean haul him up, spine riding against the cool tiles. “You’re so hot like this Cas, _so fucking hot_.”

“Twelve…Eleven…Ten…”

“You are such an asshole Cas. I’m gonna hurt you if I don’t stretch you first.”

“Better make it quick then. Eight…Seven…Si--ix…” Dean’s spit-slick finger pushes inside Castiel, perfunctory and too-much-too-fast as he fucks it in and out, rhythm sloppy and hurried. Castiel is just shakily reaching “three…” when a second finger is added and the accompanying burn is a painful one, but he grits his teeth against it, “Two…One…”

Castiel is left empty only for the time that it takes Dean to spit into his palm and slick up his cock, and then he’s getting filled inch-by-inch, Dean’s whispered obscenities in his ear only adding to the pleasure-pain lighting up every single nerve in his body. “You want me to fuck you Cas? You like it when I fuck you? Tell me how good it feels – wanna hear it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Castiel keens, arcing his back away from the wall, trying to get Dean to sink in that little bit further, just that little bit more, but Dean holds firm, jaw clenched. “Feels good Dean… you know it does. Need you to fuck me.”

“..more like it,” is the only warning Castiel gets before Dean surges against him, pushing up on the balls of his feet as he fucks the last couple of inches into Castiel, barely pausing for breath before he’s drawing back again, stretching and pulling the whole way, pain mixed with so much pleasure that Castiel can’t focus on anything else. He doesn’t even know if Gabriel is still here; can’t bring himself to care, barely able to breathe from the intensity of those green eyes on him, that beautiful cock just barely inside him.

And then Dean plunges home, shunting Castiel further up the wall and forcing a strangled moan from his throat, “ _Dean_ , fuck.” His nails scrabble for purchase against flawless skin and smooth muscle, marking Dean up as his for all to see, and he can already feel his orgasm rushing up on him, tripping up his spine as Dean drives into him over and over again.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Not any of his other fucks, not any drug, not any kill. Nothing gives him the same high, gets his heart racing and his blood pumping, quite like Dean. He doesn’t know what he was doing six months ago – before Dean got here – but he _does_ know that it was never as good as this.

“Does the big bad gangster like taking it up the ass for me?” Dean’s taunting him; each savage thrust just as jarring as his words, fucking the breath right out of Castiel, until he’s dizzy with it. “C’mon Cas, tell me nice and loud—You know I like to hear you.”

Castiel reaches down to stroke his leaking cock trapped between their stomachs, friction from every thrust not quite enough to reach the end that he’s striving for; the intense orgasm that he knows is going to be the result of the hottest fuck he’s ever had, but Dean slaps his hand away on a particularly brutal thrust that leaves them both gasping. 

“ _Tell me_.”

“Yes,” Cas hisses through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain composure in the face of Dean’s filthy mouth. Since that first time, it’s always been his undoing hearing such a pretty thing growl out obscenities.

He’s only human; though many have disagreed on that.

“Yes what, _Avtorityet_?” Dean’s voice is pitch fucking black, tarnished beyond all recognition and the effect of using Castiel’s official title is instantaneous and twice as potent as any drug, setting Castiel’s blood alight in his veins as Dean continues fucking him hard, deep and fast, not letting up, just pounding into Castiel like nothing else fucking matters.

“Dean,” It’s nearer to a whine than the growl he’d intended, but he’s not even close to caring, “need to come,” he adds a choked sounding, “please,” because Dean loves it when he begs.

“’m not… done with you yet, Cas.” To prove his point, Dean angles his hips just right and slams in deep, cock dragging over his prostate, hot and filthy and Castiel can’t, he just _can’t_. He’s powerless against Dean, completely at his mercy and he’s _so close_ , aching to come so bad that it hurts.

“Please—Dean… please. Need it. _Please_.” Dignity is reserved for the times that he isn’t on the verge of getting fucked into unconsciousness, when he isn’t suffused with the single scorching need to come, to feel Dean come inside him.

Dean’s filthy words are losing their defined edge, slurring and blending into one long stream of conscious thought, thrusts getting more frantic, bordering on painful as his fingertips dig bruises into Castiel’s skin,  “God Cas, such a fucking power trip – love fucking you…know I should be scared—scared of _you_ —but you keep me safe… _fuckyoufeelsofuckinggood_ \-- nobody’s ever kept me safe before…”

And that’s it. The knowledge that Dean is so thoroughly enraptured is enough to have Castiel coming hard, whole body taut, head cracking off the tiles as his orgasm surges over him and he’s pretty sure that he can hear Dean growling out something that echoes around the shower room, but Castiel is senseless to absolutely everything other than the pleasure singing through his veins, for a good few minutes.

As cerebral function begins to flicker back, he can hear Dean murmuring as he buries his face in the curve between Castiel’s throat and shoulder.

“Oh my _God_. Fuck. God.”

“I’m fairly certain God had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, warm breath ghosting over the cooling sweat clinging to Castiel’s skin. “You are seriously something else, Cas.”

“It has been said.”

A comfortable silence stretches between them as they fight to get their breath back and eventually Dean gently lowers Castiel to the floor, making sure he’s steady on his feet before letting go completely.

Dean’s always coy after sex. Like they haven’t just fucked each other to within an inch of their sanity, and now is no different, as he ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck in a gesture that Castiel has learned to interpret as a nervous one. “Hey Cas? Umm, you know the job you mentioned a while back?”

“Mmm?” He knows what’s coming next. And it’s hard to keep the smile at bay.

“If the offer is still open, I think I’d like to take you up on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/)


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